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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109720">Filthy Talk for Troubled Times</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis'>nervoussis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED!, Blood and Gore, Body Worship, Honestly surprised she knows me so well, Hurt/Comfort, I need a date for this wedding, I'm in love with you!, Inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Inspired by Frankenstein, Inspired by Misery (Stephen King), M/M, Necromancy, Obsession, Stalking, Steve Harrington is The Slayer, Steve Harrington is a Witch, Stockholm Syndrome, Tumblr Prompt, and they're Halloween themed because I said so, yeah well im drunk and guess what fuck nut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of cliché prompts with a chilling twist!</p><p>Chapter Two Summary:<br/>"A satanic necromancer owns a morgue and comes downtown in search of a sprit orb. He finds one, thank his lucky stars, and discloses that his best friend is getting married."</p><p>"I don't uh." Steve was humiliated. "I don't think--"</p><p>"This warlock has a knack for raising the dead. Solving the inconvenient issue of mortality, the whole town knows it. Hell, the whole world knows it, I mean." Keith whistled, low and hard as he pocketed the orb again. "Guy's a big wig. But he has trouble with romance."</p><p>The vengeance demon stared at him. "What are you planning to do."</p><p>And Steve was desperate.</p><p>He sucked his teeth. "I'm building a--"</p><p>"You're building yourself a boyfriend." Keith said hysterically, like it was the funniest thing on Earth, and. </p><p>In a way it was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In A Forest Dark and Deep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/gifts">coffeeandchemicals</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fits the prompt: And there was only one bed.</p><p>Hawkins, Indiana is home to a Witch.<br/>Yeah, you read that right.<br/>Crotchety old hag that lives in the woods and eats kids up for breakfast--pointy hat, broomstick, and Billy doesn't believe in it. Thinks the whole thing is a load of cow shit. Until Max goes missing and he must employ the help of local Witch Hunter Steve Harrington to deliver his sister from the jaws of death.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I legitimately have no idea what this is!<br/>Such a roundabout way to fill a simple prompt. But, it's Halloween and there aren't nearly enough stories about witches eating children for dinner and I need it.</p><p>My brain is being super mean to me about this one but I really just wanted to share it anyway. It's all in good fun, I hope you enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were rules for surviving in Hawkins. Few in number but heavy as the earth itself, they sucked what little fun the town held, making it impossible for kids and teens alike to see beyond the dread of night fall.</p><p>Billy had never seen anything like it.</p><p>The rules required constant vigilance and a spotless kiss-ass attitude to get right, time after time, year after year until you were old enough to jump ship and move away. They had been crafted from the very pit of survival--tried and true and indisputable if you wanted to avoid sudden death.</p><p>Billy thought it was all bullshit crafted from the minds of evil adults who couldn't recall the thrill of youth so they had to rob someone else of theirs.</p><p>Maybe it was just New Kid Syndrome rearing it’s ugly head, but he didn't get it. Billy was from California, <em>San Francisco </em>where murders and muggings were as common as Sunday morning funnies in the paper, and it didn't make sense how a town as dry and dull as Hawkins, Indiana could have suffered something so terrible, so horrifying that they had to invent a set of rules for survival.</p><p>Didn't compute with the size of the place, the shit that went on.</p><p>When his family first moved into the house on Cherry Lane they received a letter in the mail outlining the codes of the city. Billy thought it was a joke at first; don't stay out after dark, travel in groups of four or more, and, most notably: find a weapon and learn how to use it.</p><p>"Looks like the Midwest'll make a man outta you yet, son." Neil had said.</p><p>Billy hated the town and its rules.</p><p>Hated Mayor Kline who insisted it was all meant to keep "the children of Hawkins safe." As if sacrificing yourself to such unattainable standards would ward off the Big Bad that lurked in the surrounding woods. Despite the mayor's best efforts, however, children still disappeared at five times the national average.</p><p>Right from their beds, most nights.</p><p>Gone without a trace.</p><p>Billy thought it had something to do with the power plant on Mirkwood; lone and level and terrifying like a haunted mansion on the hill. Sometimes, when the night air was plagued with laughter and howls and screams Billy let himself imagine the impossible; government experiments gone horribly wrong, aliens and murderous clowns feasting on the flesh of the innocent. Billy always managed to reel it in by sunrise but the townies believed there was a Witch in the woods. </p><p>Yeah, you read that right.</p><p>A fucking witch.</p><p>And they weren't afraid to admit it, either, to anyone who would listen. Swore up and down that She was responsible for the trend of missing kids.</p><p>It was kind of pathetic.</p><p>Billy enjoyed their campy little ghost stories around the keg at parties, enjoyed the freak factor, but. At the end of the day it was a crock of shit.</p><p>He had survived enough in life to know that shit like what was happening in the sleepy town of Hawkins could only be caused by real life monsters. Men in suits and fathers with drinking problems, and no amount of hand holding or mandated curfews would change the sickness that bled from the forest itself.</p><p>The weapons, however...that he could get behind.</p><p>In spite of it all the parties raged on. Teens remained untethered. Traveled alone, even though they weren't supposed to. Stayed out after dark--drank and smoked and behaved like their sleepy little corner of the world wasn't some sort of budget horror show. No one heeded the warning that everyone was going to die at the hands of the Witch of the Wood because, at their root, no one believed in it.</p><p>And why would they? Shit was bonkers. It was kind of fucking hilarious how flustered people would get when Billy cracked a joke about the whole thing.</p><p>He liked pushing their buttons.</p><p>Someone would inevitably take it personal when he called them out (because HPS don't teach the art humor or something). All, "My brother's friend's cousin's grandpa's <em>niece</em> went missing last year, you dick!"</p><p>And Billy will have to put his money where his mouth is and fight the guy. And he'd win--he always did, because even though the shitty little town had a rule about finding a weapon and learning how to use it, the cucks at Hawkins high never learned how to use their fists.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>1. Don't stay out after dark.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Billy only ever saw Steve Harrington at school.</p><p>Kid was a textbook goody-two-shoes, a model for what every teenager should aspire to be. Harrington looked like a film noir painting among the fluorescent lights; all shadowy and intense as his already pale skin was drained of color. Harrington took the rules very seriously.</p><p>Billy was intrigued. Absolutely smitten with a boy he'd only spoken to a couple times, but that was the way with King Steve.</p><p>He was like a sexy rubix cube everyone was scrambling to solve, but it was more than that. Steve had an air about him; Tommy H. said Harrington and his friends were something of an authority in town. Trusted by the Chief of Police to deal with "the shit that goes bump in the night," and Billy had to choke down a laugh at that.</p><p>"Wait," He swallowed a mouthful of spaghettis, grinning like a maniac at the kid's ridiculous freckled face. "Your police chief believes there's a fucking <em>witch </em>in the woods too? I thought it was just your little mayor losing his marbles, but if Hopper's--" </p><p>"There <em>is</em> a Witch of the Wood," Carole popped her gum with a smirk.</p><p>"No there fuckin' isn't."</p><p>"Is too," Carole challenged. "She feeds just before midnight. Lures children from their beds and into her cottage in the woods--"</p><p>"Heard this one before." Billy was bored with the whole conversation. "The cottage made outta candy? Gotta leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find your way home?"</p><p>Carole glared, rubbing her hands up and down the length of her arms. "Can we talk about something else?"</p><p>"What, scared she's gonna snatch <em>you</em> from your bed tonight?" </p><p>Tommy chuckled, shutting right the hell up when Carole punched his arm.</p><p>"It's not <em>funny." </em>She seethed. Only; it was. "Legend has it you can conjure the Witch of the Wood just by thinking about her. Like your dark spirit calls to her from anywhere."</p><p>Billy waggled his eyebrows. "Spooky."</p><p>From across the lunchroom Steve Harrington fiddled with the handle of the bat that lived in his backpack, eyes vigilant on the unsuspecting students like some sort of annoying superhero with incredible hair. Billy had never seen the bat before, though he'd heard the stories; <em>it's covered in nails, </em>the kids whispered.</p><p>Like for this shitty town a teenage boy wielding a nightmare bat was as iconic as Freddy Krueger's claws.</p><p>Billy doubted it.</p><p>A lot of things about Steve Harrington were remarkable, but.</p><p>He seriously doubted it.</p><p>"What's this about the Ghoul Gang being trusted by the Police Chief?" He wondered out loud. </p><p>"Nah, man." Tommy shook his head, picking at the hamburger on his plate with slim, nervous fingers. "Carole's getting a little freaked out, alright? I don't think--"</p><p>"You want me to understand your wacky little superstitions. Respect the 100% believable horror your families and their families have endured, right?" Billy leaned forward. "So help me understand, dip shit."</p><p>Tommy thought about it.</p><p>Thought <em>hard </em>if the wrinkle in his brow was anything to go by. Finally; he sighed. "Alright, look. You know Harrington has a rag-tag group of <em>weirdos </em>that follow him around like he's the Pied-fuckin'-Piper--"</p><p>"Wheeler and Byers." Carole interjected, clearly bored. "Those weirdos."</p><p>Billy knew them. Byers was cool, if a little quiet sometimes, had shared a couple joints with Billy during P.E. when they were supposed to be running laps. </p><p>"Yeah, sure." He said.</p><p>Tommy nodded. "Lots of kids go missing. Hawkins is like a black hole, everybody knows someone who walked home from school one day and never made it. Or got lost while walking through the woods." He swallowed thickly. "The only kid to ever go missing and come back alive was Byers' little brother. Will." </p><p>Carole popped her gum. "Steve and Wheeler helped track him down."</p><p>Tommy nodded again, ever the bobble head doll. "Weird cancels out weird, I guess."</p><p>So Steve Harrington was a Witch Hunter. As if this whole cracked out situation couldn't get anymore Brother's Grimm.</p><p>To be honest, Billy didn't know what that meant seeing as how witches weren't fucking <em>real, </em>but apparently three teenagers had convinced the entire town that they were coordinated enough to take down a being of pure evil. He wondered how they did it; bread crumbs to find their way? Brick oven where she burned to a crisp? Or did Steve slam her in the face with his nightmare bat, ever the hero in their little fairytale story?</p><p>Billy had seen the way Steve played basketball, though. Not likely. </p><p>He grinned. "Good story, Hagan, you had me in the first half."</p><p>"You don't believe me?" Tommy looked like was going to throw up. "It <em>happened, </em>Billy. Will went missing and then Hopper helped Steve track him down. They slayed the witch--"</p><p>"Sure they did." Billy stood, gathering his trash to prepare for the end of lunch.</p><p>Tommy scrambled up after him. "They killed her and brought Will home."</p><p>"Oh yeah? And I'm sure Principal Dickenson's a werewolf too, right? It's all a load of bullshit. Some sicko took Byers' brother and the kid invented a story to distract himself from the truth. 'S basic psychology." Billy slung his backpack over his shoulder and waited for Tommy to come up with a rebuttal, a second branch to his little story that would inevitably tie the whole thing together.</p><p>It never came.</p><p>"Don't listen to him, Tommy." Carole took his hand, glaring at Billy in a way that almost stung. "You'll see."</p><p>"The fuck's that supposed to mean?" </p><p>"It <em>means </em>Something Wicked This Way Comes, asshole." Carole popped her gum again.</p><p>Billy wanted her to choke on it. "What are you, a medium now? The spirit of the great old lunch lady tell you that?"</p><p>Tommy threw his arm around Carole's shoulders, looking every bit like a chicken without a roost.</p><p>She smirked. "You have a sister, right?"</p><p>"Step sister." Billy corrected.</p><p>Carole spat her gum onto his lunch tray. "Call it a hunch."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>2. Always travel in groups. Remain tethered to a friend, never walk the streets alone.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The townies had apparently gotten to her because Max came home from school one day tethered to Lucas Sinclair <em>for safety.</em></p><p>And started riding around town in Steve Harrington's car as a <em>precaution</em>against--and get this--the Witch of the Wood.</p><p>Yeah, right again; the very same Big Bad that had everyone scared out of their fucking minds.</p><p>Billy wasn't happy about it.</p><p>Not at all.</p><p>Everyday Harrington's red Beemer would tear down the street just as Billy and Max were leaving for school and <em>everyday </em>Sinclair would jump out from the back. Tie his red string around Max's wrist and avoid eye contact with Billy like he was afraid Billy might swallow him alive or something, and.</p><p>It wasn't so bizarre for the kid to think that. Billy maybe growled, just a little, whenever Sinclair made those big dopey eyes at Max from the backseat as Steve waved goodbye with a two finger salute. She was too young to be dating--evident in the way she punched the kid's arm and told him to <em>knock it off</em> whenever he started up, and Billy thanked his unlucky stars that she didn't seem interested in normal things like boys and parties and makeup.</p><p>Far as he saw it there was nothing to worry about.</p><p>Yet.</p><p>So Billy swallowed his uneasiness; grumpy but complacent, <em>fine, </em>until Max announced that she had a date with the kid, and well.</p><p>Something had to be done.</p><p>Billy slammed his lunch tray onto the empty tabletop one dreary afternoon in October, startling Harrington from his place in the book he was reading. "I can drive my Maxine to school, you know." Billy spat.</p><p>No point in beating around the bush.</p><p>"Huh?" Steve asked, eyes big and glassy and so, so confused.</p><p>Billy sucked his teeth. "She's my fuckin' sister, you don't have to cart her around anymore."</p><p>"Thought you guys were step-siblings?" Harrington drawled. He stuck his bookmark between the pages and leaned back, arms thrown into a carless embrace against the curve of his neck.</p><p>And, yeah.</p><p>Billy talked big game but he didn't like <em>other</em> people saying it. Step-bitch, actual bitch--it was all in the details. Either way he was responsible for her, either way Neil peached on and on about <em>family and responsibility </em>and at the end of the day it was Billy's head if he caught wind of this little date she had with the Sinclair boy.</p><p>Billy shrugged, eyes roaming with forced relaxation. "Consider it a favor."</p><p>"It's a favor to me if you drive your sister around?" Steve smirked. "I'm not sure I follow."</p><p>"Yeah, whole town's got her scared shitless about this imaginary witch." Billy shoveled a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, talking through the thick paste in a way that probably had his mother rolling in her grave. "Kid's a little too old to be believing in fairytales, though she'd probably fit right in with the rest of the freaks in this town."</p><p>"The witch isn't imaginary." Steve muttered.</p><p>He was cute when he muttered.</p><p>"Yeah, okay." Billy pushed his lunch tray to the side with a grimace. "Sure she isn't. And I can expect the tooth fairy to leave Max's dough under her pillow, right? Wouldn't say no to saving a couple bucks."</p><p>"You don't believe in it?"</p><p>And that was fucking funny. "Whole town's seen one too many scary movies, if you ask me." </p><p>Steve frowned. "I've seen her."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"I have, she's--"</p><p>"Got a pointy black hat and green skin, pretty boy?" Billy exhaled harshly through his nose. He had a variation of this exact conversation with at least one person a day and, frankly, it was getting old as shit. This wasn't how he wanted his first real conversation with Steve to go.</p><p>There were so many other things Billy wanted to talk to Harrington about, things he wanted to know. Witches and black cats and shit? Bottom of his list.</p><p>"Whatever, believe what you want." Steve gathered his lunch, stopping midway to catch Billy with a shy, easy smile. "Is this really about the Witch of the Wood?"</p><p>"Fuck else would it be about?"</p><p>Steve shrugged. "Lucas."</p><p>"No. I don't even--" Billy shook his head. "Who's Lucas, never even met that fuckin' kid before--"</p><p>"He asked Max on a date. Couple days ago, during carpool, just." Steve chuckled, fondness evident in the tilt of his pretty pink lips. "It was kinda sweet--"</p><p>"I fuckin'. Steve, she's too young to be dating, alright? Way too fuckin' young, I can't just." Billy snarled. He had to pause before he flipped his fucking lid, ruined his chances for good. "I'll drive her to school from now on. Little brat can be tethered to <em>me</em> until she's thirty or something and then <em>maybe</em> we'll bring Sinclair back around."</p><p>Steve grinned at that--wide and genuine and so pretty that Billy felt the wind get knocked out of him.</p><p>Harrington shrugged his shoulders. Easy--simple.</p><p>"If you didn't want her to be tethered to Lucas you could have just said something."</p><p>"It's not only that." Billy scrubbed a hand over his mouth, frustrated. "We're not from around here. All these rules and shit? Gotta be tethered, travel in groups of four or more, it's fuckin' insane."</p><p>"It keeps us safe."</p><p>Billy stared at him. "So, you really believe there's a fuckin' witch? Are <em>you</em> crazy?"</p><p>"If you'd seen half the shit I saw." Steve shook his head, jaw working around the anger in his throat. "Hawkins' a weird place, Hargrove. Mega weird, like fifteenth dimension, <em>Twilight Zone </em>freaky and it's always been like that. I know it's hard to believe, 'specially for someone like you who's seen a whole lot. Done a whole lot, I bet, but."</p><p>Steve leaned forward, so intrusive on Billy's personal space that he could make out the little flecks of green in those big eyes. </p><p>"If a whole town of 30,000 people all believe the same thing?" Steve smiled sadly. "Maybe they're telling the truth."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>3. Find a weapon and learn how to use it.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was his fault that she went missing. His fault for being so carless, too caught up in the moment to realize that he never picked Max up from school that day. </p><p>The kid could be anywhere. She could be <em>dead, </em>Billy's brain so helpfully reminded him as he turned the Camaro onto Loch Nora. God only knew what Neil would say, what he'd <em>do</em> if Billy returned home without his sister.</p><p>Kids went missing in Hawkins like it was going out of style. Max could be dead. Mauled by a bear, lost in the woods or worse. </p><p>
  <em>Don't bother going home unless you find her.</em>
</p><p>Max could be three counties over the state line by now. Trapped in the trunk of a rusty BMW, fed to the wolves or auctioned off to the real life monsters that plagued Billy's nightmares and it was his fault for letting loose for even a second.</p><p>Max was gone and Billy couldn't breathe.</p><p>He was used to the belief that everything was his fault because he was a fuck up. Too preoccupied with staking a claim as King in this hick town to notice when his kid sister was in trouble. Not so different from California, but this?</p><p>Billy had fucked up before but this was the worst and biggest.</p>
<hr/><p>"If you had just let her stay with the others--"</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"If you had let me drive her to school, let her tether herself to someone her own age--"</p><p>"Steve, <em>I know." </em></p><p>"Why are you here, Billy?" Harrington gripped the door jam with white-knuckled fingers, expression bordering on hostile. "If you don't believe in it why are you here?"</p><p>He didn't have an answer for that.</p><p>Billy swallowed. "Seemed like the right thing to do?"</p><p>"What about going to the police, dipshit?" Steve flung himself away from the door.</p><p>"Right, like you wouldn't be Hopper's first call," Billy scrambled after him, closing them into the stillness of the house as Steve retreated further down the hallway.</p><p>Steve obviously expected Billy to follow, like he somehow knew the way.</p><p>Billy had seen Harrington Manor from the outside countless times; most often out of sheer boredom (there weren't many places worth seeing in this shitty little town) but sometimes, when Billy felt the pull of those big brown eyes and that dopey smile, he'd drive by in the hopes of catching Steve on his way in or out. He had his fantasies--they were friends. Billy grew up here, playing dress up in the play room, swimming in the pool. Steve was his closest friend in the world and they were soft. Tender, as they fell in love--</p><p>But that's all it was. Fantasy.</p><p>Billy had never been inside. Not beyond the swell of the foyer and certainly not into the <em>study, </em>for Christ-sake, where Steve came to a sudden halt in front of a marble fireplace. The flame threw shadows across his milky skin, giving his eyes a sunken appearance when he turned to stare at Billy.</p><p>"Do you have any proof that the Witch was responsible?" </p><p>And. "No." Billy snarled. "I don't have proof that she exists in the <em>first place, </em>I just know Max didn't come home after school."</p><p>Steve folded his arms across his chest. "Which wouldn't have happened if you picked her up."</p><p>"Thank you, Steve, that's very helpful."</p><p>"Look Hargrove, you came to me, alright?" Harrington snapped. He scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breath until the anger drained from the hard line of his shoulders. "Who's to say she isn't at the Wheeler's? Or El's? Did you even think to call--"</p><p>Billy sucked his teeth.</p><p>The guy wasn't <em>listening. </em></p><p>"She wouldn't just disappear like that. Not to El's and <em>definitely </em>not to some boy's house, alright, she knows how Neil is."</p><p>Steve blinked. "Max is a thirteen year old girl, they can be pretty forgetful." And he said it like he knew. Like he had experience or something, and Billy supposed he did, seeing as how he was responsible for the brats, but.</p><p>"You don't know Max, then. She wouldn't lose track of time like that, not without a phone call." Billy reasoned.</p><p>Because it was true. The one time she had forgotten to call Billy ended up with a cast on his arm and she got the message; we keep each other safe. Anything the kid wanted to do, any stupid shenanigan she had rolled up her sleeve for a rainy day--Billy would cover for her.</p><p>It's just what they did.</p><p>"No." Billy said again, firmer this time. "Max would tell me if she was doin' something stupid, we have a deal."</p><p>Steve looked inclined to argue again, like maybe Billy didn't know his sister, but must have seen the look on Billy's face and thought better of it. He nodded once.</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"That's it?" Billy did his best to glare. "Just 'okay?'"</p><p>"Yes, asshole, just okay. If you say she's missing then I believe you. I trust you." He winced around the last bit, like admitting it out loud was painful as pulling teeth. "And if we're going to find your sister you need to trust me too, alright?"</p><p>Billy stared at him.</p><p>Steve stared back. For minutes, for <em>hours </em>it seemed, until; "Will you just trust me?"</p><p>And it was a tall order for someone like Billy, to whom trust felt like a cruel joke. Anyone who'd ever had Billy's trust abused it, made him bruise and bleed while they convinced him that it was all an accident--that it'd never happen again. Billy knew what happened when you gave your trust and he was reluctant to give it to Steve.</p><p>To this beautiful, irritating, brilliant, apparently incredibly well coordinated man who might be the only one brave enough to find his sister.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Finally, Billy nodded. "Alright, Harrington. Crunch the numbers."</p><p>Steve gave him a weak smile and rounded the corner of the desk. He pulled on a pair of glasses and began rifling through the drawers, shuffling loose papers and glass balls and fucking <em>cloves of garlic </em>like it was the most normal thing on Earth. He was clearly looking for something but it was taking too fucking <em>long. </em></p><p>Billy began pacing in front of the fireplace, boots creaking on the ancient floors until Steve shot him a heated glare.</p><p>"Would you knock it off." </p><p>"What, am I distracting you from the ancient tome's in your desk?" Billy smirked. "What's with the garlic? Don't tell me vampires are real too."</p><p>"Ha-ha," Steve said flatly. He opened the top center drawer with a curl of his lip and leafed through a stack of very old, very worn looking papers. "Who knew? Hargrove's beautiful and funny."</p><p>"Shut the hell up," Billy snapped, but his cheeks were pink.</p><p>Steve grinned as his fingers slid across the surface of the oldest and mustiest piece of paper Billy had ever seen. Brown, almost the color of mud during the height of the wet season, Steve lit a candle (yup, a fucking wax candle. Like this was the 1800s) and brought the paper close to his face.</p><p>His lips slid gently over the curves and valleys of a language that made Billy's head ache.</p><p>"Fuck's that," Billy indicated with a jut of his chin. The air suddenly felt ten pounds heavier as Steve folded the paper in half again and again until it fit neatly into the pocket of his Levi's.</p><p>"Summoning spell." Harrington said.</p><p>And, holy shit, when did Billy's life become a shitty horror flick.</p><p>"Thought the goal was to get <em>rid </em>of the Witch, not summon something else." Billy felt like the biggest fuckin' fruit on the planet as Steve pulled a duffle bag from under the desk and fiddled with the lock on the massive cabinet in the corner. </p><p>"Spell's not for something else, it's for her." Harrington explained haughtily. Like Billy should already <em>know this </em>or something. </p><p>Billy didn't know. </p><p>"Wait, we're bringing her to us?" He stuttered. And his voice was shaking because he <em>so </em>didn't sign up for that shit.</p><p>The rusty old lock fell to ground in a crescendo of creaks and dust. The cabinet, once opened, was stocked to overflowing with weapons--cross bows, knives, slingshots, guns, fuckin' <em>swords. </em>Steve picked things off the shelves seemingly at random as Billy started pacing the floor like a caged animal.</p><p>"It's easiest to summon her."</p><p>"Like," Billy swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Like, to your fuckin' <em>backyard?" </em></p><p>Steve laughed at that. All, <em>don't be ridiculous this is witch hunting 101.</em></p><p>Billy instantly hated it.</p><p>"Sure, we <em>could</em> do that. Trap her in a circle of salt, bind her hands, drop a bucket of water." Steve placed a few more things into the duffle bag; candles, flashlights, talisman's that swirled and writhed in their metal bindings. "Kill her right here at 1578 Loch Nora. Easy peasy."</p><p>Billy didn't understand. "Yeah, lemon squeezy, right?"</p><p>Steve smiled at him. Soft and genuine, like that day at the lunch table. "Sure, if you never want to find Max."</p><p>Which.</p><p>He hadn't even thought of that. They'd have to go to her if Billy ever wanted to see his sister again.</p><p>Sure, okay. He could man up, he could slay a witch.</p><p>Easy peasy.</p><p>Steve nodded at the cabinet. "You'll want to pick out a weapon."</p><p>"A what?" Billy's hands were shaking again. </p><p>"Something you already know how to use, would be best." Steve slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and gestured to the doorway. "I need to pack provisions, so. Take your time."</p><p>And then he was gone.</p><p>Billy stared at the line of weapons, taking in the glint of metal in the dull candle light. Contrary to popular belief Billy wasn't big on gore. Call it a side effect of having to give himself stitches last summer but the ooze of red between the slit in someone's skin was like kryptonite.</p><p>Billy felt lightheaded even now, as he ran his fingers along the hilt of a machete. </p><p>Fuck, he wouldn't even know what to <em>do </em>with half this shit. The knives were bigger than what he carried in his boot, the crossbows too heavy and medieval looking. Even the ones he'd used at camp would be put to shame. He'd only ever shot a gun--did witches have to be shot with silver bullets like werewolves? </p><p>Billy scrubbed a hand across his face. </p><p>This was weird. Too fuckin' <em>weird </em>and he thought for a moment that Steve was right. Maybe Max had decided to stay over at a friends house and just forgot to call and let him know to cover for her--maybe she was eating dinner with Hopper and El right now, pj's all laid out for movie night or something and what was Billy <em>thinking. </em>He couldn't fight a witch, hell he couldn't even fight Neil drunk on half a bottle of whiskey--</p><p>That's when he saw the axe.</p><p>Thick silver blade etched with those bizarre, swirling shapes from before. The handle was carved from a piece of mahogany; gorgeous and deep red with a jewel imbedded in the hilt. He ran his fingers down the length of it, fingertips catching on the gentle ridges and valleys of the wood. </p><p>This was the one.</p><p>Billy held the weapon in his hands just to feel the weight of it. He gave an experimental swing, grinning from ear to ear when it responded easily--the thing was sturdy. Heavy, at least thirty pounds, and Billy wondered if he'd be able to use it tonight.</p>
<hr/><p>The woods that surrounded Hawkins were like an alien planet. Tree line dense and ominous, swallowing all light and sound as soon as Billy stepped foot into the canopy of tree limbs and mulberry bushes.</p><p>Steve lead the way on sure, solid feet, the duffle bag against his hip thumping as the beam from their flashlights provided a pathway into the forest. They didn't speak. Just kept walking and walking and <em>walking </em>as the moon climbed higher in the sky. </p><p>The axe was heavier than it had been at first, slung around Billy's shoulders with some sort of homemade leather strap. He was hyper aware of the blade nestled sweetly beside his head, the way it caught the rays from the moon every so often when Billy heaved against the musty thickness of the air. </p><p>His hands wouldn't stop shaking.</p><p>It was all fun and games in the light of day, when he was safe and sound in the lunchroom with Tommy and Carole and their stupid fucking faces relaying the stories Billy had heard a thousand times. In the safety of his bedroom it was easy to write it off as fairytale.</p><p>But.</p><p>With Steve Harrington trekking through the forest--nightmare bat in one hand and a flashlight in the other, face etched with lines that promised he had done this a few times in his life--Billy felt like he was going to throw up.</p><p>"What are we looking for, again?"</p><p>Steve took a sharp right, so sudden that Billy nearly walked headfirst into a tree. "We need a clearing. Preferably on high ground. Won't be easy to harness the energies with all the tree limbs blocking the moon, so--"</p><p>"And you've seen this magical clearing before?"</p><p>Steve shrugged his shoulders, duffle bag jingling as the weapons clanged against each other. "My family's been in the business for as long as anyone can remember. Protector of the people, defender of all that is good and holy," He sighed. "We didn't have to summon her last time."</p><p>
  <em>Last time. </em>
</p><p>Billy reached into his pocket for a cigarette, stopping to cup his hand around the flame. When he looked up again Steve was watching him. Not staring exactly, just. Watching Billy puff on his cigarette, something almost like fondness tugging at the corners of his eyes. </p><p>"What happened last time?" Billy let the smoke snake out of his nose with a smirk. "Death didn't stick?"</p><p>"Guess not. We stumbled on her by accident. Routine patrol, nothing too fancy. She was in the process of gathering herbs. Wolfsbane and lilies of the valley, right by Hopper's cabin." Steve started walking again, slower this time, as if caught up in the easy conversation. Like the topic wasn't Witches and mounters. "Will left us clues. Little messages in the lights and shit. Kinda hard to explain but there was a trail, you know, something to follow."</p><p>Billy was confused. It was becoming his default setting. "And I pulled you out here on a blind whim. Real classy."</p><p>"Hey, it's alright." Steve stopped in his tracks, turning a look on Billy that made his cheeks flare bright red. "I was due to patrol tonight. Would've heard about her disappearance eventually, so. At the end of the day you saved me some time."</p><p>"Some use of time this is." Billy stamped out his cigarette, the battle axe snug against the swell of his shoulders. "We've been stepping in mud and shit all night and for what. We're lost in the goddamn woods. Sitting ducks."</p><p>Steve shook his head. "One step closer than if we were waiting at home. Almost lost Will by trusting the cops to do their job."</p><p>Billy narrowed his eyes. "What makes you so sure what you saw wasn't some kind of deranged serial killer and not a witch."</p><p>Steve started walking again, swinging the bat from side to side to clear a narrow path in the brush. "She had Will crawling up the walls with his head turned all the way around." He said casually, like it was just another day in the life.</p><p>Billy choked on his spit. "No fuckin' way."</p><p>"Yeah, shit you not. Was the scariest thing I've ever seen and I nearly burned an entire building to the ground once 'cause it was full of vampires."</p><p>"Knew it," Billy quipped. "The garlic in your desk was real subtle."</p><p>Steve chuckled at that, a sweet and soft noise that <em>did not </em>almost make Billy's knees give out. "Like I said; Hawkins is its own brand of weird."</p><p>Now that.</p><p><em>That </em>Billy could agree with. "Like some sort of shadow dimension. Or, like. A Hell mouth, or something."</p><p>"Wow, that's really just a guess?" Steve smiled softly, features gentle and smooth from the ambient light of the moon. He adjusted the strap of the bag again. “Alright, let’s pick up the pace. We only have a few hours until Dawn."</p>
<hr/><p>The clearing was smaller than Billy had imagined.</p><p>Rife with moss covered rocks at the mouth of a cave, Billy felt like the scene was straight out of a fairytale as he helped Steve set a ring of white candles on the highest point. The moon shone so brightly that they no longer needed the flashlights.</p><p>”Why are they always white,” Billy wondered aloud. “In every movie I’ve ever seen they use tea candles. That some kinda tip you learn in witch hunting school?”</p><p>Steve chuckled, storing the duffel bag under a nearby bush. “White is a good base color. Represents purity and exorcism.”</p><p>”Like. As in demons?” Billy wasn’t down with that.</p><p>Fuck no.<br/>
<br/>
Steve’s eyes softened around the corners. Like he sympathized with how freaky the whole thing was and felt bad for Billy’s involvement.</p><p>Like he felt bad for Max. Finally; “Yep, as in demons.” </p><p>Steve stood at the center of the circle with his nightmare bat at his feet. He nodded for Billy to take his place in the ring of salt, to ready himself, which he did with an eye roll. Against his will Steve had explained that it was <em>For your protection. </em><em>I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you.</em></p><p>And Billy <em>knew </em>it was just textbook hero bullshit but it still made his stomach squirm with something almost like butterflies. So he stood at the ready. For what, he didn’t know; knuckles white around the handle of his axe.</p><p>“Ready?” Harrington asked.</p><p>“As I’ll ever be,” Billy whispered.</p><p>Steve took the murky brown paper from his pocket with a soft smile and spoke in a loud, clear voice.</p><p>"Here goes nothing." He lifted the paper toward the sky, chanting words in a language Billy had never heard before. The vowels were slippery, flowing in and around the air like water as the wind picked up all around them. </p><p>Leaves scattered across the damp earth.</p><p>The trees bent to and fro, groaning under the weight of the wind as Steve struggled to be heard over the noise. Billy felt like a spring ready to unload, muscles taught and tense with the weight of the moment.</p><p>Steve finished the invocation and the clouds rolled in, slowly and then all at once until the only light came from the ring of white candles at Steve's feet--</p><p>and then it went silent.</p><p>Like the entire world had been put on pause. Steve clicked his flashlight, peering through the darkness for something they both knew was there.</p><p>Billy could feel it. <em>Her, </em>in the way the air grew thick like hot soup. He clenched his fingers around the axe, turning in the circle of salt until Steve let out a slow, careful breath. So as not to disturb the air around them.</p><p>"Did it work?" Billy whispered.</p><p>And that's when he heard it.</p><p>Someone was humming softly, like a mother singing her baby to sleep. Steve whirled around, eyes wide with fear as he stooped to snatch his bat off the floor. </p><p>"Steve, what--"</p><p>"Shh!" He snapped. The humming grew louder by the second, permeating from every corner of the clearing. Billy felt the ground rumble and shake with the highs and lows of that sweet voice and there was something <em>familiar </em>about it, something he couldn't quite place. He watched as Steve took a step out of the protection of the circle. Watched as he backed away slowly when a figure emerged from the shadows.</p><p>Billy felt a scream die in his throat only to be replaced by longing. </p><p>An intense, primal desire to be <em>close closer closer </em>to her. He felt his feet carry him forward--over the ring of salt and around the moss covered stones until he was shouldering his way past Steve to reach the candle light.</p><p>Max was there, he could feel it.</p><p>Steve was by Billy's side in seconds. "Billy, wait--"</p><p>"She's here."</p><p>"You need to stay in the circle." Steve grabbed at Billy's arm, nails digging in uncomfortably through the layers when he gave a sharp tug. "Come on, we have to--"</p><p>A flash of red hair.</p><p>Distant, just beyond the line of trees. Billy took off running, axe clutched tightly in his fists. Steve was behind him.</p><p>Saying something.</p><p>Yelling <em>something </em>in that language Billy had never heard when the figure lifted from the ground and started flying back the direction Billy had come. He spun around just in time to see Steve lift the bat above his head and give a swing. He missed, nearly falling on his ass when a clawed hand emerged from the folds of the cape.</p><p>And, yeah. </p><p>That was a fucking witch.</p><p>Steve was looking at Billy from across the clearing, his eyes wide with fear and determination. "Run!" He said. </p><p>Steve swung the bat once, twice, a shower of blood spurting off to the side when the nails made contact with something fleshy and hard.</p><p>Billy was going to throw up. Yup, his head started spinning as he took a step toward Steve, who was swinging blindly now, almost like he couldn't see what was right in front of him. </p><p>"Billy, go! I'm right behind you, just--" Steve let out a painful wet sound as the witch made a dive for his chest, nails sinking in. His face went slack and-- </p><p>Billy took off running.</p><p>He lifted the axe above his head, burying the blade into its back again and again and <em>again </em>until it collapsed on top of Steve with a chilling screech. </p><p>"Holy fucking shit." Billy let the axe fall to the ground with a <em>thud. </em>"Fuck that's a goddamn. Fuck--"</p><p>"Still think everyone in town is insane?" Steve rolled onto his side with difficulty.</p><p>His chest was ripped open.</p><p>Skin hanging in bloody shards around three deep claw marks buried in the center of his ribcage and Billy wondered distantly how he could still be alive.</p><p>"Damn, Steve, your--" He reached forward to fucking, <em>push the skin back together </em>or something, when Steve shook his head.</p><p>"Yeah," He said weakly, giving a gentle laugh when a piece of flesh flitted to the ground like an autumn leaf. Steve sniffed. "I heal pretty fast, so. Should be fine in a couple hours."</p><p>"Are you crazy? There's no way you can walk home, you're fucking." Billy gagged in a way that was manly. And tough. "No. Absolutely not, we need to find shelter."</p><p>Steve waved a dismissive hand, trying a failing to stagger to his feet. "I'll be fine. Should see the other guy."</p><p>And.</p><p>The <em>other guy </em>was dead.</p><p>Facedown in the soupy black Earth as Steve reached out a hand. Billy tore his eyes away from the Witch (goddamnit. He'd never admit it to Tommy's face) and helped Steve to his feet. </p><p>"You sure you can walk?" He asked. Because; hole in the chest.</p><p>"There's a salve in the duffle bag, just." Steve nodded, hair flapping down over his forehead as he winced in pain. He took a steadying breath. "Hopper's cabin isn't far from here."</p><p>"How far's <em>not far?" </em>Billy asked. He had learned that, maybe, Steve was an optimist. </p><p>He shrugged, wincing again. Billy wished he'd stop that shit. "Maybe a mile."</p><p>And, uh.</p><p>"A fucking <em>what." </em>Billy shook his head. No way was he carrying Steve's ass a <em>mile </em>to the nearest haberdashery while he bled out on the forest floor. </p><p>As if he could read minds, Steve glared.</p><p>"Just trust me, alright?" He nodded to the crumpled figure in the dirt. "Besides. That wasn't the Witch."</p><p>Billy was tired.</p><p>Fucking exhausted. "No, of course not." He mumbled. They took their time hobbling to the duffle bag, electing to leave the candles where they had been extinguished. Whatever sad sack took this route on their daily hike tomorrow was in for a real treat.</p><p>Billy picked up both weapons, the axe and the bat sliding easily into the bag. It fit loosely around his shoulders.</p><p>Steve slung his arm around Billy, leaning on him as they made their way into the dense line of trees.</p><p>Billy shuddered. "So. If that wasn't the witch, then--"</p><p>"It was her familiar." Steve said thickly. Billy could tell by the lilt of his voice that he was exhausted.</p><p>Of course it was the Witches' familiar.</p><p>Billy couldn't wait to graduate.</p>
<hr/><p>As it turned out, hiking through the woods with an injured companion took a lot longer than originally planned. </p><p>Against Steve's wishes they had to stop every so often for water. </p><p>
  <em>I told you, I'm fine--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just drink the shit and we'll be movin' again, princess.</em>
</p><p>Steve got fussy when he was in pain. Billy filed that in the back of his mind for later.</p><p>There was a first aid kit in the duffle bag, too, which Billy decided to save until they weren't sweating through their clothes anymore. Steve's face had gone from ashen to pale and clammy and by the time the cabin swung into view he was able to hobble around on his own.</p><p>Billy couldn't help but think he was a superhero or something. </p><p>Steve grinned. "Told you. I heal fast."</p><p>"Won't be sayin' that when I pour rubbing alcohol over those wounds, princess." Billy grumbled.</p><p>Steve whined. "That's gonna sting!"</p><p>"Know what really stings? Infection. Lyme disease." Billy listed, grinning as the pretty boy pouted silently next to him. Billy had to help Steve climb the stairs to the front door and then watch, freezing his dick off and grumpy as shit, when instead of opening the thing Steve laid a grimy, blood covered hand over the padlock and closed his eyes.</p><p>Started chanting again in that weird, watery language of his.</p><p>Billy was growing impatient with the whole thing. "Isn't there a key under the mat?" </p><p>Steve sighed when the lock came off in his hand. "Thing's enchanted." He said with a grin, and.</p><p>Of course it was. </p><p>Why wouldn't it be, when the forest was jam packed full of vampires and witches and their shitty familiars.</p><p>Billy shouldered his way over the door jam, watching as Steve padlocked the door from the inside and sealed it with more ancient phrases.</p><p>He made a mental note to just buy a lock and key for the place, holy shit.</p><p>The cabin was small.</p><p>Studio, with a fireplace and a tiny kitchenette that (thankfully) housed modern cups and bowls and cans of sliced peaches. The shower and toilet stood in the corner. No curtain, no door because yeah, the evening could always get worse.</p><p>And the cabin was kind of disgusting; rife with cobwebs and dust but at least there was a stack of fire wood next to the bed.</p><p>The only bed.</p><p>Of <em>course. </em></p><p>Billy tossed his jacket to the side and made easy work of building a fire. All those years in the boy scouts were finally paying off. He felt Steve's eyes on him the whole time, burning a hole into the back of his head as he lumbered around the space gathering supplies.</p><p>Billy lowered Steve onto the mattress against his reassurance that <em>I can take care of myself </em>which was laughable.</p><p>"If I hadn't been there you'd be dead," Billy quipped.</p><p>That shut Steve right up. It was obvious he wasn't used to be rescued. </p><p>Billy scrubbed his hands clean, grateful that the shack had running water, and dug around in their bag for the salve and first aid kit he had seen before. When he made it back to the bed, fresh towel in hand, Steve was dozing off.</p><p>Billy snapped his fingers. "Uh-uh pretty boy, wake the fuck up. You probably have a concussion. Doze off like that and I'll be burying you come morning."</p><p>"You're not really the 'spoon full of sugar,' type are you?" Steve whined.</p><p>And, no. He wasn't. </p><p>"It's one of my best features." Billy winked. He snapped his fingers again. "Up and at 'em, doll face, let nurse Billy assess the damage."</p><p>Steve struggled on to his elbows, wincing as his shirt was down the middle. "Ow, watch it, dick."</p><p>Billy chucked at that, smile sliding right off his face when the cloth came back white.</p><p>Steve's wounds were nearly healed. </p><p>Not perfect, obviously, but the tender pink flesh had somehow started to scab over in the thirty minutes since Billy's last check up. He bit his cheek and cleaned them anyway, reminding himself to be gentle when Steve's face screwed up in pain.</p><p>Billy opened the jar of salve, a pungent mixture of lavender and tea tree oil flooding his nostrils in a wave of girly agony. "Jesus, who the fuck made that shit," Steve chuckled and then winced when Billy smeared a thick layer over his wounds. "Should fire 'em, whoever they are."</p><p>"Hopper would have my head if I even considered it. Well," Steve sucked his lower lip between his teeth when the gauze went on. Wound tight around his midsection. "Assuming he could catch me."</p><p>Billy lowered Steve to the mattress again. "I'm still confused how the Chief fits into all this. Hell, I'm not even sure how <em>you </em>fit." Billy wandered to the sink and washed his hands. Shucked the dirty towel into the bin by the door. "Pretty boys shouldn't know so much about witches and vampires and ancient spells."</p><p>"Don't really have a choice." Steve said softly.</p><p>Billy smirked. "What, you the chosen one or something?"</p><p>Steve was watching him, face soft and beautiful in the light of the fire. "Unto every generation."</p><p>Billy had to force his heart to beat again.</p><p>"Can you keep a secret?" Steve asked. </p><p>Billy made his way to the fireplace just for something to do, lifting logs into the flame and situating them with the poker when the burned unevenly. "Yeah. I like to think I can."</p><p>Steve watched him silently for moment, brown eyes fluttering gently against the soft swell of his cheeks. Whatever he found in Billy's face must have been enough.</p><p>"Hopper's my watcher." Steve concluded, like Billy was supposed to know what that meant. </p><p>Billy stared at him until Steve laughed.</p><p>A pretty, bright little sound that Billy wanted ringing down the hallways of his mind everyday for the rest of his life. Steve laid his head against the pillow, rolling onto his back so Billy had the displeasure of being able to count the moles on his neck. </p><p>"My watcher, he. Takes care of the logistics, you could say. The lore and the fairytales--" Steve shrugged. "Guess you could say he's like a really reluctant expert of doom and gloom."</p><p>Billy tried to imagine Chief Hopper battling monsters in the woods.</p><p>Tried to picture him curled up with those books in Steve's office, the ones with the watery languages and worn papers. It was laughable, imagining the guy getting donut crumbs on a banishing spell.</p><p>Billy cleared his throat, startling as Steve turned to watch him again.</p><p>"So this is what you do? Hopper and--"</p><p>"Robin, Nancy and Jonathan, yeah we." Steve chuckled again, almost sadly. "Guess you could say we save the world."</p><p>Huh.</p><p>Billy laid on his side, back to the fireplace. "What happened today?"</p><p>"That's just your average Tuesday." Steve yawned, big and wet and wide like a little kitten. He stretched, toes curling on the filthy mattress. Steve regarded Billy with a sleepy, pink cheeked smile. "Well. It's not every Tuesday I get to slam monsters in the face with someone as pretty as you."</p><p>And Billy wanted to disappear.</p><p>He settled for kicking off his boots, settling against the dusty carpet with a grunt. </p><p>"Yeah, well. Don't get used to it." Billy yawned too, suddenly exhausted. "Max and I are jumping ship first thing in the morning."</p><p>His heart gave a painful, shuddering squeeze.</p><p>He tried not to think about it as Steve said, sweetly; "We're going to find her, Billy. I swear."</p><p>And he had learned early in life not to rely on promises, but.</p><p>Billy nodded anyway. "'Preciate that, lover boy."</p><p>Steve closed his eyes. They sat in companionable silence, the sound of each other's breath a symphony in the warm air. Billy flopped onto his back and listened to the noises Steve made; the rattle of his breath around the wounds in his chest, the little hums as he dreamed about gumdrops and monster blood. He was silent for so long that Billy thought he'd fallen asleep, so he closed his eyes, darkness pulling him under until;</p><p>"You can sleep up here with me." Harrington said. "If you want."</p><p>And, God in Heaven, did Billy <em>want. </em></p><p>He sat up, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "You sure? I don't wanna--"</p><p>"Please," Steve concluded. "Don't like sleeping alone after a patrol, just." He shuffled to the side, making room for Billy on the mattress.</p><p>An unspoken plea for comfort. For companionship and who was Billy to deny the savior of mankind?</p><p>He laid with his back to Steve. Forced his heart to slow, his nerves to ignore the radiant heat of the boy next to him but it was nearly impossible. This was a scene out of his very soul; Billy had thought about it countless times, in countless ways. What it would be like to be a passenger in Steve Harrington's bed.</p><p>Falling asleep together. <em>Sleeping </em>together, holding hands until the sun shone bright in the morning sky. Now that it was actually happening Billy couldn't bring himself to breathe too deeply, or unclench the muscles in his back for fear that Steve would run away.</p><p>Disappear into the night like Maxine or his mother, or--</p><p>"You could scoot closer." Steve said loudly. Too loudly, in the still of the night. "If you want."</p><p>Billy did, until their shoulders sat pressed together. He swallowed thickly. "Thanks."</p><p>"Look, we don't have to--"</p><p>"Max is my sister. I should've listened, should've just <em>believed--"</em></p><p>Steve rolled over onto his side so he could See Billy's face. "That's in the past. Now we have to focus on the present." He reached out a careful, tentative hand. Brushed his fingertips along the length of Billy's jaw. "The Hell mouth swallows people up. Just what it does. What happened to Max? 'S not your fault, okay?"</p><p>And Billy believed that sweet boy.</p><p>Believed him so fiercely hat tears slid down his cheeks to pepper the tips of Steve's fingers. </p><p>Billy turned onto his side to face him. </p><p>Steve Harrington was beautiful.</p><p>"Thank you anyway."</p><p>Steve leaned in.</p><p>"You’re welcome."</p><p>The kiss was soft and sweet. An unexpected yet welcome a promise that, no matter what, the sun would rise. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Necromancy for Dummies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>fits the prompt: I need a date to this wedding.</p><p>Steve is a Necromancer who owns a mortuary in Hawkins, Indiana. After the announcement that his best friend is getting married, Steve is desperate to prove that he, too, is worthy of love.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Loosely based on things like Frankenstein and Frankenweenie and Paranorman.</p><p>I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So, yeah.</p><p>It had been ten years since his last real relationship. A decade since Nancy Wheeler dumped him at Tina's Halloween party and Steve had heard the opinions from everyone in his life about his refusal to move on.</p><p>Dustin thought there was no time limit on heartbreak. Told Steve he shouldn't be ashamed of taking time for himself, of taking a breather to work through his <em>abandonment issues. </em></p><p>It made Steve feel good to have it reaffirmed, like he was getting a gold star for participation.</p><p>Robin, on the other hand, was of the belief that Steve should fuck anything with a pulse. Given that the thing could consent. She preached constantly about the therapy of the blowjob (both giving and receiving) and Steve thought it was a little odd for a lesbian to condone pegging like that but who was he to judge?</p><p>At least she was supportive, if a little brash, and he'd rather hear it from her than his Nonna anyway.</p><p>The two of them were like a goddamn hive mind or something, it was kind of ridiculous.</p><p>Dustin always rolled his eyes and repeated, insistently; that Steve should do what made him feel comfortable. Not adhere to peer pressure or goading at the hands of a certain crowd favorite lesbian, and for a decade Steve had agreed.</p><p>It was his life. His lack of love, <em>his </em>mental breakdown, and Steve would experience it any way he saw fit, goddammit.</p><p>Dustin was ecstatic. Told Steve he was proud of him--inspired, even, that sex and relationships weren't the hottest topic on his mind, but.</p><p>Dustin couldn't have been more wrong.</p><p>Steve thought about love constantly. Thought about holding hands and baking cookies on rainy Saturday mornings with someone who saw beyond what Steve presented to the world, and as the weeks turned into months which turned into years, it became impossible to ignore the aching in his chest to be completed.</p><p>He was good at hiding it. The want. The need for connection and sure, it was a primitive construct that everyone needed someone. Sure it wasn't an actual necessity and Steve <em>knew </em>his worth as an individual wasn't defined by his access to a romantic partner and yada-yada-ya, but.</p><p>Then Nancy and Jonathan got Married.</p><p>And Dustin got Married.</p><p>And Mike and El moved in together.</p><p>And everyone was moving forward with their lives, even his Nonna who had started dating new men every Saturday night after the death of his grandpappy Ralph. </p><p>And, maybe, Steve started to feel like a loser. </p><p>Just a little.</p><p>Like he was defective and unloveable and he tried not to mope his way through life, as a rule.</p><p>At least he still had Robin--the last single girls, the two of them.</p><p>But then Robin got engaged and Steve didn't know what to do.</p><p>--</p><p>“You know that weird little friend of yours is getting married.”</p><p>”I know, Nonna.”</p><p>”The lesbian.” Which. Steve didn’t know why she kept calling Robin that. As if the two of them weren’t thick as thieves, best friends who played bag gammon together and smoked pot to quell Nonna's rising blood pressure. Annoying as all hell, is what they were. Kind of sweet, too, when the mood struck them. “And I don’t hold anything against the homosexuals, Stevie—“</p><p>”I know.”</p><p>She kept right on talking. Swallowing smoke, cough rattling the receiver against Steve’s head. “Hell, even I had my adventures back in the day.” </p><p>And. Yeah, Steve pushed his food to the side, suddenly overcome with queasiness. </p><p>“Did I ever tell you about Margot?” She asked. He could feel a story coming on.</p><p>”Nonna, I really don’t—“</p><p>”Breast’s like candy apples, for Christ-sake--" </p><p>"Please stop." He begged. Steve could barely handle the stories about grandpappy Ralph. Her voice was wistful, even over the phone, like it got when she talked about love. Nonna was a romantic—hopelessly so, you could say that's where Steve got it from, but.</p><p>"Fuck, that's." He wrinkled his nose. "Ew."</p><p>"Alright Stevie, I get it. Once a woman turns fifty she stops being human. You know, for a witch you have incredibly narrow views of sexuality." Nonna leaned away from the phone, the tiny plastic tops of her hair rollers rattling when she yelled at Bride, her asshole cat. </p><p>Steve bristled. "I don't have--"</p><p>"You're kind of a prude, honey bunch." She was mostly kidding. Steve had spent the majority of his childhood learning the difference between the two feelings and he could tell that Nonna was grinning, somewhere on the other end of the line. "I blame your father." She said.</p><p>And they always did. He was mortal, practically puritan by the way he ruled over Steve's childhood with an iron fist, and.</p><p>"Can we talk about something else?"</p><p>"What, like how Robin is worried about you?"</p><p>Steve nearly dropped the mug in his hand. "You talk about me?"</p><p>"Of course we do." He was mortified. Nonna didn't seem to notice, chuckling as she poked and prodded. "What else would we talk about? Besides candy apple breasts, of course."</p><p>"Oh my god, Just." Steve groaned, burying his head in his hands. "Stop it. I swear to God I'm gonna--"</p><p>"God?" She chuckled again, that raspy smoker's laugh reaching through the phone to pull a smile out from Steve's chest. "Honey, if God were real don't you think he'd take pity on the desperate?"</p><p>He opened his mouth to argue--</p><p>And then closed it again because he <em>was </em>desperate. In every sense of the word. Steve got up from the couch to pour himself another cup of coffee, his third for the night--sleep was out of the question. </p><p>Nonna took his silence as an opportunity to clear the air. "Robin also said you're her best man."</p><p>"Yup. That'd be me."</p><p>"And you know it's tradition for the best man to have a date, right Stevie?" She paused, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. "It's bad luck for him not to."</p><p>He snorted. "You definitely just made that up. Right now. On the phone."</p><p>Steve could practically <em>see </em>the swipe of her manicured hand in his minds eye.</p><p>Could feel her taking a swig of gin, blotting her mouth with a napkin as she said, "Details. The point is, honey bunch--the <em>homosexuals</em> are getting married. Hell, Nancy's been married for three years to that patient stoner boy." The distant flick of a lighter filtered through the receiver. "What was his name again?"</p><p>"Jonathan," Steve said around a slice of pizza.</p><p>"Yup, that's the one. And even that scrawny kid with the law degree--"</p><p>"Mike," He scrubbed a hand across his face. Nonna tried to remember the names, but. In her words: <em>there were too many fuckers to bother.</em></p><p>She snapped her fingers at the realization.</p><p>Smug little shit.</p><p>"Uh-huh, even Harvard has a live in partner. Point is: they can get married. All of them in their nerdy, scrawny, pale faced glory. And if they can somehow find love, why can't you?" </p><p>Steve felt his checks go pink at the bluntness of it all. Here he was, embarrassed in his living room though no one was around to see it, and.</p><p>There were about a trillion and one answers to that question.</p><p>He tried not to mope his way through life, as a rule. And that's not to say that there weren't things to complain about--Steve kept an itemized list in his sock drawer, for fuck-sake, and liked to pull it out for a refresher when things were moving a little too well.</p><p>As a reminder that he was so uncool. The absolute lamest, whenever shit got hopeful.</p><p>For starters, he was twenty eight and still afraid of the dark. Call it the result of phantom trauma, call it good sense--he had to use the tiny flashlight on his phone when moving about his house after the sun fell from the sky.</p><p>Setting appointments over the phone was his worst night mare. He let the trash get smelly before taking it out to the bin and spiders took up entire rooms when they made an appearance in Steve's apartment. He slept in front of the T.V. most nights because his bed felt too big and too empty but perhaps the worse thing of all--dweebiness and general child like wonder aside--was that his Nonna had started to notice.</p><p>Steve shrugged, remembering again that no one could see him. "There aren't any hopefuls on my list."</p><p>"None at all?" She said in disbelief. "Come now. My grandson is strapping--handsome and smart and a wiz with potions and brews." Nonna fell silent for a moment, the soft <em>puff-puff-puff </em>of her cigarette reaching through the atmosphere like limbs from a tree.</p><p>Finally; "We could always find you a love spell, slip an elixir into someone's tea. Someone you fancy."</p><p>Steve snorted. "Right, because that'll do wonders in quelling the rumors that I'm a stage five clinger."</p><p>"Who's saying that?" Nonna demanded. "Give me a loch of their hair and I'll make sure they'll stop saying anything."</p><p>And Steve knew she would.</p><p>Nonna had hexed three kids for stealing his lunchbox in the fifth grade for a whole lot less, and he had no doubt she'd do it again. </p><p>Still. He was reluctant to spill the metaphorical beans. "Just, kids in high school. When I was with Nancy."</p><p>"Doll, that was ten years ago. Ten years." Nonna said, voice cresting the height of annoyance. "Besides, clinginess is just another term for loving selflessly and loving fearlessly, even when it's inconvenient."</p><p>She lit another cigarette. "What would Nancy Wheeler know about that?"</p><p>And.</p><p>Steve knew he was in for a long night.</p><p>--</p><p>There were rules that came with being a witch. An etiquette, you could say, specifics that sucked all the fun out of having unlimited power. In many cases witches weren't exposed to higher magicks--either couldn't handle it or didn't know how to stop themselves from becoming addicted to the rush.</p><p>Steve's family colored outside the lines, so to speak. Nonna believed that there was no such thing as white or black Magick--just spells.</p><p>Just desire and intent and power. Truckloads of it, all waiting at the tips of his fingers if he knew where to look, and Steve never got in trouble for following his gut instinct. Not when he turned Tommy H. into a frog, not when he used magick to cheat on tests, and certainly not when he hexed people who deserved it.</p><p>And they always did. Had it coming, Steve thought, and who was he to deny fate?</p><p>Thus a culture of independence emerged around the young witch. A steely belief that there was no right or wrong, only his will.</p><p>His design.</p><p>You could say that was the first mistake.</p><p>--</p><p>The first time Steve reanimated a corpse was the day his lizard died.</p><p>Corncob was his familiar, which made it immensely difficult to wrap his head around the possibility of death. Steve's mother said it was a bad omen, that he hadn't properly sorted his intent before casting and thus the energies had taken something from him as payment.</p><p>Nonna said it was just the way of life. </p><p>
  <em>All God's creatures pass on, Stevie.</em>
</p><p>But it was a fact he refused to accept. Steve didn't eat for days after Corncob's passing, refraining from drinking water, even, as he figured out what to do.</p><p>No right.</p><p>No wrong.</p><p>Only his will.</p><p>So Steve broke into the attic. Wrapped himself in a corner stacked with books and manuscripts on darker subjects, read until it felt like his eyes were melting out of his head and there among the cobwebs Steve got his answer; necromancy.</p><p>The world felt slippery in his mouth. Steve knew it was mostly forbidden, especially for younger witches, but the thick, leather bound volumes had said it was rather simple to reach through the veil and breathe life into a vessel.</p><p>Simple to bend the rules to fit his will and Steve was desperate; familiars weren't supposed to leave their masters, and he missed his friend dearly.</p><p>So, a life for a life.</p><p>That was the price, the books said. Steve made sure to iron out his intent this time.</p><p>He planned for days; gathered supplies under the guise of mischief--simple spells like making someone's hair fall out--until the moon was waxing and he convinced his mother to let him cast during the witching hour--his first of many. The incantation was to be said right as the clock struck midnight. <em>Thrice thine and thrice mine, and thrice again to make up nine--</em></p><p>Steve sliced his palm and let an offering of blood feed the energy of the night.</p><p>Come morning corncob was eating flies like nothing had happened. Talking, like always, like before.</p><p>The books said sometimes the soul got trapped in the in-between, but. Steve didn't notice a difference and Nonna didn't ask questions.</p><p>She told him he was powerful.</p><p>She told him it was rare that a witch of his age had the fortitude to reach into the veil, and he should be proud that he had been given such a precious, valuable skill.</p><p>Nonna told him that death was his gift.</p><p>You could say that was the second mistake.</p><p>--</p><p>Steve couldn't get the conversation out of his head.</p><p>Robin was getting married and he was desperate. Single and desperate and undesirable and frumpy--a whole list of things--stuck in a big Scooby-doo house with manuscripts on Wichcraft and Embalming that definitely were no help in getting him laid. After Nonna turned in for the night Steve poured himself a glass of wine, which he drank over a book on potions.</p><p>He poured himself another to make it through an embalming session; the corpse had started to smell and it was gravely unpleasant.</p><p>Steve took a shower and drank another to help him fall asleep.</p><p>It didn't work.</p><p>He poured a fourth glass of merlot and sat in front of the fireplace with the bottle cradled to his chest.</p><p>It was true. Embarrassing, obviously, that his grandmother was more invested in his own love life than he was, but.</p><p>True, nonetheless.</p><p>Everyone in Steve's orbit had moved on. Found love and success beyond running a Mortuary and Steve had thought about returning his gift so many times. Apparently botany and hearth witches were hot on the ticket of romance; everyone wanted flowers and tea cakes from their lover but the gift of death--helping spirits cross over, providing relief to grieving families, reaching into the veil in his search for lost spirits--while practical in use, was too weird for many.</p><p>For most, of the people Steve had dated at least. No mater what, witch or mortal, the same complaints always arose; Embalming fluid is not a valid form of cologne! Reanimating dead opposums on the side of the road is Creepy and Gross when they start following us around, asking for food! Conversations with dead people are not appropriate when I take you to meet my parents!</p><p>All the attributes Steve possessed weren't high on most people's lists when looking for a suitor. It's not like there <em>were</em> many witches running around, and even then.</p><p>They wouldn't be thinking that when their loved ones passed on. Fucking imbecile's. </p><p>Necromancy could be frightening. What with the vengeful spirts and the gaping hellmouths ready to swallow unsuspecting innocents, but Steve's gift was <em>useful </em>goddammit. And valuable. He felt whole and helpful and good when he could help people process complicated topics like death and he felt.</p><p>Powerful.</p><p>So powerful when he could fix it for them; bring back a child who had died too soon, or a man who had passed before the birth of his son. The kind of rush he received--Steve was taught never to fear power but to take it. Wield it. Forge his own path, create his own story--</p><p>"I should build a boyfriend." He said suddenly. Thickly, as wine dribbled down his chin. Corncob awoke from his terrarium in the corner, cocking his head to the side like <em>pussy won't.</em></p><p>"Pussy will, you fucking dick." Steve rose on shaky feet and pulled his manuscripts from the book case. Leafing through them recklessly even as the words slipped around the page. Five glasses of wine would serve him well tonight. "Can't believe I never thought of this before."</p><p>He stared at Corncob. "Why didn't you think of this before?"</p><p>The lizard stared at him, glassy eyes quizzical. <em>Don't look at me, I'll have none of your necromancy.</em></p><p>"You choose now to harness a sense of mortality?" Steve tossed the first manuscript to the side and propped open a second, biting his lip as he scanned the index for his favorite passage.</p><p>
  <em>What are you searching for?</em>
</p><p>"The Abi-Dalzim passage." Steve lamented distantly. They knew it well, had employed it when the Markson twins died of cancer before their fifth birthday.</p><p>Corncob wasn't on board with it that time, even though the children's mother had stopped eating.</p><p>Corncob was never on board with anything.</p><p>He was a terrible familiar. <em>Is that really a good idea?</em> The lizard reasoned. And.</p><p>Yes, yes it was.</p><p>Steve closed the second manuscript and opened the Demonomicon. Volatile energies worked best, sometimes. "Every idea is a good one."</p><p>Corncob's tongue flicked out to lick his eyeball. <em>We haven't exhausted our other options.</em></p><p>And that.</p><p>That was laughable. "I haven't had a partner in over ten years, Corny." The light from his lamp flickered once. "If I was capable of meeting one the usual way I'd be married with kids by now.</p><p><em>What's that round friend of yours always saying? </em>Corncob feigned interest. <em>Self worth is not determined by outside factors.</em></p><p>Steve couldn't believe he was taking advice from a lizard, Goblin or otherwise. "You eat flies for a living. Hardly one to judge."</p><p><em>Something could go wrong. </em>Corncob lamented. <em>The air. It worries.</em></p><p>Steve opened a third manuscript. Wasn't really interested in his tidings of doom, since things almost always panned out in Steve's favor, but; "Worries how?"</p><p>Corncob fell silent. Thoughtfully brooding as Steve copied the specifics from the Abi-Dalzim passage. </p><p>A graven image.</p><p>A list of attributes.</p><p>A loch of human hair, and. An orb of Thesula. </p><p><em>We don't have access to a spirt orb. </em>Corncob concluded. As if that would somehow stand in the way. <em>They're extremely difficult to locate--</em></p><p>"Difficult but not impossible." Steve pocketed the list and shrugged on a coat. Fall in Hawkins was brutal, the leaves paving a way from unrelenting cold. "I'll go see Keith. He always has the hook ups."</p><p>
  <em>You despise Keith. </em>
</p><p>Steve shrugged. "I despise you as well, but." He shrugged his shoulders like here we are. </p><p>Corncob stared at him thoughtfully. <em>You are a powerful master, Steven. Perhaps love will find you.</em></p><p>Steve was almost moved.</p><p>Almost touched, to his very core, but. He had grown tired of sleeping in the house alone. Of filling out dating profile after dating profile only to be rejected for oozing outside a rigid set of standards, and.</p><p>Why wait?</p><p>The last of the single girls was leaving him. Marrying the mortal love of her life and Steve didn't see a reason to show up to the wedding without a date, when he could build one for free.</p><p>Why leave it to fate when Steve had the power.</p><p>When it had always been there, brewing just below the surface.</p><p>Steve shrugged. "Yeah, and perhaps not." He held open the lapel of his jacket, exposing the pocket Corncob lived in when they ran errands together. "Now are you coming or what."</p><p>The lizard sighed. Big and dramatic and so <em>bratty </em>that Steve almost regretted bringing him back to life.</p><p>
  <em>Alright, fine. But I'm going to complain the whole time.</em>
</p><p>--</p><p>Keith was insufferable and not just because he was a vengeance demon.</p><p>They had done business together countless times. Keith always came to him whenever he needed payment from a recently deceased customer and Steve kept his Cart of Mysteries in business by purchasing all of his stolen goods. The guy had everything loaded into the back of his dodge neon; from enchanted rabbits feet to vials of blood from the holy lands, Steve's least favorite underwordling was the hottest ticket in Hawkins for any and everything dark arts.</p><p>And he was an asshole.</p><p>A stingy, self righteous asshole who just so happened to have exactly what Steve needed and <em>of course </em>was choosing tonight to be difficult.</p><p>On a full moon.</p><p>During the height of the witching hour.</p><p>"How do I know you won't break it?" Keith snatched the orb to his chest, eyebrows drawn in a grimace.</p><p>And Steve <em>so </em>didn't have time for this shit.</p><p>"What?" He was freezing, hugging his arms to his chest and growing impatient. "It's made of solid glass, you're telling me this thing is--"</p><p>"Yes. Thesula's are fragile. Practically shatter when placed in the wrong hands, and this is my only one 'til Tuesday, so." Keith polished the thing on the lapel of his jacket, just to be an even bigger dick. "How do I know you'll use it correctly?"</p><p>Steve blinked. "Because my incantation requires a--"</p><p>"Do you even know a Thesula's intended purpose?" Keith preened. "To retrieve souls from the veil. Any ol' soul you want and it'll call it fourth, no hidden fees and no take backs. Easy peasy."</p><p>Keith blew a raspberry and Steve? He wanted to scream. "Just sell it to me."</p><p>"Ask nicely."</p><p>"No." Steve concluded. Absolutely not. He gestured to the sky, eyebrows lifting in mock humor. "Kinda running on a clock, here, so--"</p><p>"What're you using it for?" Keith leaned against the trunk of his car.</p><p>"Like fuck I'm telling you." </p><p>The vengeance demon grinned. "Oh if you want this Thesula bad enough you will."</p><p>And. </p><p>Shit.</p><p>Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Robin's getting married."</p><p>Keith immediately brightened. The two of them were <em>friends, </em>though Steve didn't really understand why. Vengeance demons could turn on you at the drop of a hat but he assumed the guy liked Robin's wit. Her spunk, and she was the spunkiest witch by far.</p><p>"Oh, Mazel Tov."</p><p>Steve held out his hand. "Yup, I'll pass along the message, so--"</p><p>Keith smirked. "Riddle me this." He tossed the Thesula in the air, catching it with a rough crack to his palm. "A satanic necromancer owns a morgue and comes downtown in search of a sprit orb. He finds one, thank his lucky stars, and discloses that his best friend is getting married."</p><p>"I don't uh." Steve was humiliated. "I don't think--"</p><p>"This warlock has a knack for raising the dead. Solving the inconvenient issue of mortality, the whole town knows it. Hell, the whole <em>world </em>knows it, I mean." Keith whistled, low and hard as he pocketed the orb again. "Guy's a big wig. But he has trouble with romance."</p><p>The vengeance demon stared at him. "What are you planning to do."</p><p>And Steve was desperate.</p><p>He sucked his teeth. "I'm building a--"</p><p>"You're building yourself a boyfriend." Keith said hysterically, like it was the funniest thing on Earth, and. </p><p>In a way it was.</p><p>He tossed the Thesula to Steve without warning, laughing harder when he nearly dropped it on the ground. </p><p>"Fuck," Steve winced. It was lighter than he had expected, glowing bright blue in the palm of his hand. "What's that mean?"</p><p>Keith looked away from packing his stuff, pushing the hair out of his eyes with another whistle.</p><p>"Means the God's are guiding you on your journey," the demon said casually.</p><p>Like the whole thing was casual.</p><p>Steve felt every bit like King Arthur as he fumbled for his wallet. </p><p>Keith stopped him. "Free of charge."</p><p>Which.</p><p>"Nice try," Steve chuckled. He fished a couple hundreds from his wallet, handing them over with a wink. "I'll be sure to credit you."</p><p>"Nah, no way." Keith pocketed the money with a vigorous shake of his head. "When your little boy toy goes wacko and eats half the town I don't want it getting out that I'm the one who made it happen."</p><p>And Steve could get that.</p><p>He understood.</p><p>Steve slid the orb into his pocket, forcing Corncob to shuffle in his perch. "Thanks again."</p><p>Keith waved dismissively, returning to the pile of garbage he was trying to fit in his trunk.</p><p>"Oh, and Steve!"</p><p>He turned around, confused.</p><p>Keith grinned. "Give him a smooch for me."</p><p>--</p><p>And Steve had thought a lot about what he wanted in a boyfriend. Who he'd like to come home to after a long day and it was easy to envision the man he was going to create.</p><p>A being who was smart and strong, beautiful in the sense that it was insulting. Kind in a way that wasn't overt--sweet in a way that complimented himself and as he sat down to sketch an image Steve knew exactly what he was going for.</p><p>He made a point in outlining his desires. </p><p>Thought for hours about his intention--true love, someone to share his life with--and the orb glowed blue.</p><p>The Gods were smiling down on him and Steve tried not to let it go to his head as the the clock struck three. He situated himself in the embalming room. Lit candles, laid out his supplies for the evening and began.</p><p>On a metal slab he had fashioned a man made of clay.</p><p>The shape was vaguely human. Shorter than Steve but stockier around the middle--beefier.</p><p>Corncob chortled. <em>Twink.</em></p><p>"Shut up," Steve mumbled. The lizard quieted instantly as Steve pressed the orb through the center of its chest, watching as the bluish hue lit the clay man from the inside. "His essence consume." Steve said.</p><p>Corncob swallowed, movement palpable in the thick air.</p><p>"Ready?"</p><p>
  <em>As we'll ever be, I suppose.</em>
</p><p>Steve spoke in a loud, clear voice.</p><p>--</p><p>He awoke in bed. Sunlight streaming through the open window, birds singing--the whole nine yards. Steve tossed a pillow over his head and burrowed deeper under the covers because <em>fuck </em>this. </p><p>Fuck all of it, until--</p><p>Something was laying next to him in bed.</p><p>Something warm and solid, a thick wall of muscle shifting closer and closer still; "You aren't going to say good morning?"</p><p>And holy shit, it worked.</p><p>Holy <em>fuck.</em></p><p>Steve peeked out from behind his pillowcase, nervous for what he might find but curious. Proud. </p><p>Blue eyes the color of high noon stared right back at him. Blonde ringlets spread across the bed tickled Steve's neck as his creation smiled, plush pink lips curving with secret warmth. His eyelashes practically touched Steve's from where they were pressed together, and. Holy shit.</p><p>Holy <em>fuck, </em>he was beautiful.</p><p>So beautiful it hurt, and. "Good morning?" Steve croaked.</p><p>The clay man (who wasn't clay anymore, holy shit) pried the pillow from Steve's hands and sat up, his muscular shoulders catching the sunlight in a frilly of sculpted ridges. He blinked his pretty blue eyes, taking in the bedroom as he turned to watch Steve fall apart against the mattress.</p><p>Steve swallowed. "You. Um. Gorgeous. Very, um. Hot." Nice. Very smooth.</p><p>The man grinned. "You aren't half bad yourself."</p><p>Which. </p><p>Steve scrambled into a sitting position, back hitting the headboard with a painful <em>Crack. </em></p><p>"You can talk?"</p><p>"Course I can," He said with a drawl, blue eyes rolling to look at the ceiling. "You made me in your image."</p><p>Steve snorted. He gestured to the guy's whole <em>thing; </em>the muscles and the long blond hair and those <em>pecks, </em>Jesus Christ. </p><p>"No, um. I wish." Steve chuckled.</p><p>The clay man grinned wider at that, eyes sparkling like Steve was something special.</p><p>Something beautiful.</p><p>He sat on his knees, the silk blanket falling in a heap around him and--</p><p>"Holy shit, you're." Steve covered his eyes. "You're naked um. Do you--"</p><p>The man started climbing up the mattress.</p><p>Holy fuck.</p><p>Steve could feel the bounce of it, the jostling of his weight as he settled on Steve's thighs with a coo, and.</p><p>Holy--god, in heaven--</p><p>Steve was instantly hard when the man tugged at his wrists. When blondie pulled Steve's hands away to show his face.</p><p>Steve peeked at him through one eye. "Do you want some? Clothes, or." </p><p>The man was watching him. Just staring, eyes wide and cheeks pink as Steve tripped over himself to get a grip. He brushed his fingers over Steve's mouth softly. Pressing to make him stop, to shut him up.</p><p>"You are good." The man said.</p><p>"Huh?" Steve wished he had the vocabulary to understand this moment because it felt heavy.</p><p>Massive, as the Man's fingers moved to cup his jaw. To tilt his face toward the light.</p><p>His brow furrowed around the thought. He parted Steve's lips with his thumb, eyes glued to the tender pink muscle of Steve's tongue as he muttered, "Let me kiss you."</p><p>And.</p><p>Steve tried to speak around the finger in his mouth. "I don't--"</p><p>The man inhaled at the feeling of Steve's tongue sliding over the pad of his finger. He shushed him, hinging Steve's jaw open with more force than necessary. </p><p>Steve thought distantly that he liked it.</p><p>"Let me taste you." The man said.</p><p>Holy fuck.</p><p>Holy-- "I don't even know your name." Steve whimpered pathetically. Because it was important to him. That this creature, this <em>man, </em>had an identity.</p><p>A personhood.</p><p>The man frowned. "I am yours." He leaned forward to mouth at Steve's neck, as if to prove it.</p><p>He only succeeded in making Steve think with his dick.</p><p>"Right, but I could, uh." He moaned softly at the sweet drag of teeth against his throat. "I could be yours, too--"</p><p>"You are mine."</p><p>"Yeah, that's um. That's alright with me, no complaints here, it's just--" Lips on his chest. His stomach. His thighs. Steve couldn't think straight.</p><p>He yelped when the man licked at the cotton of his boxers.</p><p>Right over his cock, teeth hot and breath warm, and--</p><p>Steve pulled him up by his shoulders.</p><p>The man frowned, hurt flickering and cracking on his face like candle light. "Do you not want me to claim you?"</p><p>Holy fuck.</p><p>Steve swallowed. "No, I. God, I want." The man leaned in again, eyes hungry on Steve's mouth. He stopped him with a gentle hand to the chest. "I have to get through this part, okay? Will you. Could you listen to me for a moment?"</p><p>The man nodded, sitting back on his ankles to reveal a thick, pink head trapped between the skin of his legs.</p><p>Steve forced himself to press on.</p><p>"It's important to me that you have a name. Because you aren't mine." His face fell. Steve grasped at him, desperate. "I mean you are. We belong to each other. As equals. You can live here, with me, if that's what you want. And I can help you see the world. I don't own you. That's what I'm saying."</p><p>"Maybe I want to be owned."</p><p>And Steve hadn't expected that.</p><p>"You're ten hours old, you have a lot to learn." He swallowed thickly, ignoring the ache between his legs.</p><p>"Did you not create me so I could be of service?" The man asked.</p><p>And. "Yeah, so I wouldn't be alone."</p><p>It was pathetic, admitting it out loud. Steve felt tears swamp his vision--he bit his cheek to make them go away. "I wanted to prove that someone could love me. My friend's getting married and I didn't want to show up without a date, and." Steve looked up, into those pretty blue eyes and felt like the worst kind of person. "Shit, this was a bad idea. I was being selfish."</p><p>The man shook his head. "It is not selfish to crave love and companionship."</p><p>"I don't want to take advantage of you," Steve said thickly. "I never should have--"</p><p>"You do not have to worry about that." He leaned forward and placed a hand on Steve's chest. "Your heart is pure. Clean."</p><p>As if that explained it all. Steve watched him, tracking the movement of those eyes across his face.</p><p>"I was made in that image," The man concluded. </p><p>Steve hung his head.</p><p>It was true, what they said about him. Steve was power hungry, pathetic, clingy. The worst of the worst and add God Complex to that list; you could create a clone of the worst person alive. Steve wanted desperately to disappear as a gentle hand moved his face toward the light once more.</p><p>The man smiled. "You are kind and fair and good. Let me be yours. Please."</p><p>"It wouldn't be right."</p><p>"I am giving myself to you because I love you." Those lips said. Steve relished the sweet slide of skin over skin as the man climbed into his lap. "What will it take for you to give yourself to me?"</p><p>Steve sighed. Opened his mouth to accept gentle, sloppy kisses from a gentle creature.</p><p>Steve pulled away. "We could start with names? I'm Steve," He said, reaching out a hand. The man kissed his knuckles.</p><p>"Who should I be?"</p><p>Steve shrugged. "Anything you like."</p><p>He allowed himself to be lowered to the mattress. Allowed the man to suck and kiss at his neck until, with a breath as soft as summer air;</p><p>"You can call me Billy."</p><p>And maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one was so much fun to write. Please let me know what you thought/ if I missed any tags.<br/>Happy Halloween!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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